The freckle-faced boy stopped reading and looked at the man and woman; the sleeping child stirred uneasily in her chair, and the black-haired boy straightened out his legs and looked over his shoulder.
“Hello, Mother,” he said heartily.
The woman walked unsteadily to the curtained doorway leading into the dining-room and pulled aside the curtains.
“Come here, Joe,” she said.
The freckle-faced boy arose and went toward her. She stood aside, supporting herself with one hand grasping the curtain. As he passed she struck him with her open hand on the back of the head, sending him reeling into the dining-room.
“Now you, Tom,” she called to the black-haired boy. “I told you kids to wash the dishes after supper and to put Mary to bed. Here it is past ten and nothing done and you two reading books again.”
The black-haired boy got up and started obediently toward her, but Sam walked rapidly past him and clutched the woman by the arm so that she winced and twisted in his grasp.
“You come with me,” he said.
He walked the woman across the room and up the stairs. She leaned heavily on his arm, laughing, and looking up into his face.
At the top of the stairway he stopped.